Ashes
by TheScarletOctopus
Summary: A flash of light - a ball of fire - a mushroom-shaped cloud rising into the sky. And in the blink of an eye, the world they had known is gone forever.
1. Weight of the World

**A/N: Well, I hadn't originally planned to do this, but two things changed my mind. First off, reader ****DJremiz**** requested that I expand "Tell Me Straight" into a series; this story will basically fulfill that function (i.e., it'll explain how the world got to where it is in "Tell Me Straight", as well as what happens afterward). And second, I learned that (as I'm sure you're all well aware by this point) **_**Victorious**_** is going off the air after this season. That being the case, this may well be the last **_**Victorious**_** fanfic I ever write; so I decided it would be best to go out with a bang…literally.**

**Please note that if you're easily depressed, or squeamish, this story may not be your cup of tea.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

_Monday, May 27, 2013_

As the clock ticked toward noon, Detective David Vega eyed with distaste the sloppy, mayonnaise-dripping roast beef sandwich that sat on a paper plate on his desk. _Oh, my cardiologist is just going to __**love**__ this. I swear, I keep eating like this and I'll never live to see retirement._

The station was unusually busy for a Monday, a blur of sights and sounds. A seemingly endless stream of purse-snatchers, hookers and junkies was paraded through on their way to Central Booking. Two men with battered, bleeding faces gave their profanity-laced, diametrically opposed versions of a road rage incident to the weary desk sergeant.

High up on the wall, unheeded, a TV flickered. The words of the anchorwoman were barely audible: "…The State Department at this hour is calling on Acting Premier Kirov to step down and return power to the legally elected Russian government. The General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, meanwhile, has expressed his strong support for Kirov, whom he calls, quote, 'a valuable ally in the ongoing struggle against Western imperialism'. In other news, riots continue in Pyongyang, where food shortages are threatening to topple-"

His boss, Captain Carter, approached with a manila folder in hand. David hurriedly shoved aside his sandwich and took his feet off his desk.

"Take it easy, Dave. I've just got some papers for you to look over."

"Got it. I'm going out on patrol in a few minutes, but I'll get to them by this evening-"

"Don't worry about patrol. Mayer can fill in for you. These take priority. Chief's orders."

"The chief? What's he doing worrying about little old me?" David grinned and waited for Carter to chuckle in reply, but the captain's face was grim.

Nervous now, David opened the folder. A sheaf of yellowing, typewritten papers slid out. He glanced at the title page.

His face went white as chalk. "…What? You've got to be kidding me. This can't…this can't be serious…"

"Calm down, Dave. As likely as not this'll all blow over, and we can shove this stuff back into the filing cabinet and let it gather dust. But the chief doesn't want us taking any chances – not with the mayor getting antsy and all."

"But – this has got to be thirty years old! Hasn't anybody updated it? Aren't there any contingency plans that are more recent?"

"Not for something on this scale. We thought we could mothball everything once the Wall came down, but the way things are in Russia now, with the coup – and North Korea being a powder keg – well…we have to plan for the worst. You understand."

David nodded slowly, his thoughts a confused swirl.

"Oh, and Dave? I know I don't have to tell you this, but…try not to spread this around, okay? Panic is the last thing we need this early in the game."

"Yeah," he said absently. "Yeah, you can count on me."

"Good man." Carter clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, then."

David's eyes refused to focus properly. He shuffled and reshuffled the papers, getting vague glimpses of maps, figures, charts. Page after page of headings, subheadings, numbered lists and bullet points – all of it neatly categorized, as if that would somehow serve to disguise the horror that lay beneath it.

He looked up at the television, and now, for the first time, he strained to listen:

"…the aircraft carrier _Harry S. Truman_, leading a task force currently stationed at Yokohama. The commander of the Pacific Fleet stressed that the task force is strictly for observational purposes, and in no way reflects an escalation of the American military presence in the Far East. China and Russia have termed the move a 'deliberate act of provocation'…"

The bald facts and figures in his hands began to take on forms in his mind: the suffering, the burned, the starving, the screaming, stretching out in rows as far as the eye could see…

Though the station was a balmy eighty-eight degrees, David Vega began to shiver.

/

"Chicago, Chicago…it's a city that's exciting, it's a city that's inviting, it's a city for a woman just like me…"

Tori Vega banged on the bathroom door. "For crying out loud, aren't you done with your shower yet?"

"There's a place they call Lake Michigan…oh, knock it off! My skin has to be hydrated to keep its silky sheen! I'll be done in fifteen minutes."

"Ugh! Well, could you at least try to sing in _tune_, then?"

"I _am_ in tune!"

"I give up," Tori muttered.

The sound of the front door opening sent her racing down the stairs. "Dad! Would you _please_ tell Trina that she's taking too long in the…Dad?"

Her father looked as though he had aged ten years since he left for work that morning. His eyes were distant, haunted, and the gray that had begun to sprinkle his hair over the past few months was suddenly more pronounced. He was slightly hunched over – the look, Tori thought, of a man bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"…Daddy?" she said, suddenly fearful. "What happened?"

"It's…it's nothing, sweetheart. Just a hard day at the station." It was painfully obvious that he was concealing something, but Tori didn't dare push any harder.

"So…um…Mom called. She said Grandpa's doing better, but he's still in the ICU. She probably won't be able to come back to LA for at least a week."

"Oh, thank God," he whispered.

Tori raised an eyebrow. "Are you really that happy not to have Mom around?"

"No, it's just…it's better for her not to be here."

"Dad, you're not making sense."

He forced a smile. "Don't mind me, sweetheart. I'm just rambling. Where's your sister?"

A painfully flat high C echoed through the house: "…My perfect cup of tea…."

"…Shower, huh?"

Tori nodded ruefully.

He went to the foot of the stairs and called up: "Trina, come down here, please."

Tori's heart skipped a beat. Most men betrayed their strong emotion by yelling or swearing, but not her father. Instead, when he was at his most disturbed, he would mask his feelings by adopting an artificially calm, level tone of voice, capped with deliberate politeness. The tone he had used just now.

Trina, too, knew what that tone of voice meant. She came down the stairs only moments later, barefoot and dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. Her hair was still sopping wet, and her expression was anxious. "What's wrong?"

David Vega looked from one to the other of his daughters. "I…I think it would be best if you girls went to stay with your mother in Vancouver."

They stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Trina was the first to find her voice: "Are you kidding? We've got graduation in a week! We can't just drop everything and jet off to Canada!"

"I know, baby, and normally I wouldn't ask you to do this, but…" He looked at the floor.

"But what?" asked Tori slowly. "Dad, just what happened today?"

"I just found out about some…some extra work I've got to handle. I'm probably not going to be around the house much – overtime and stuff – and it would take a load off my mind if I knew that you were safe with your mother."

" 'Safe'? " said the elder Vega sister incredulously. "Dad, we can take care of ourselves. We're not going to burn the house down or anything-"

"Trina, _please!_" he suddenly cried. "For once in your life, will you just do as I say? This is for your own good!"

To his daughters' amazement, he began to tremble. His words were half-choked in his throat. "I just want you two to be safe…you're my little girls…"

Without a word, Tori and Trina went to him and hugged him tightly. "It's okay, Dad. It's no problem. We'll go," said Tori soothingly.

"Thank you." Some of the old steadiness returned to his voice. "It means a lot to me, your being willing to do this. And I'll make it up to you. Somehow."

"Can we fly first class?"

"Trina!" Tori smacked her sister on the back of the head. "You know money's tight right now-"

"No, it's fine," her father said. "First class for both of you."

"Dad, you're officially the greatest!" Trina kissed his cheek and hurried off to get dressed.

After a moment, Tori headed for the stairs. Halfway up, she stopped and looked back at her father. His eyes were again on the floor. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, lost in his own world.

With a certainty that reason couldn't explain, Tori suddenly knew that this trip would only be one way.

/

Once his daughters were in bed – Trina sleeping soundly, Tori tossing and turning restlessly – David Vega went into the kitchen, where a sink full of dirty dishes awaited him. He flicked on the radio and turned it down low.

"…American ambassadors to Moscow and Beijing have been recalled. Unconfirmed reports are trickling in of artillery fire across the DMZ between the Koreas. Acting Premier Kirov and Secretary Hu have said that their countries will not hesitate to use 'all available means' to protect North Korean sovereignty…"

He began to scrub a tomato sauce-encrusted pan mechanically, lifelessly, as the disembodied voice droned on with its litany of bleak news. All the time his mind was on the manila folder tucked inside his briefcase, and the document it contained, with its blunt, dreadful title:

_Civil Defense Plan for the City of Los Angeles in the Event of Thermonuclear War_


	2. Dominoes

**A/N: Not really happy with this. It's probably better that I'm giving up this fanfiction game – I'm approaching burnout very rapidly.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

_Tuesday, May 28_

Tori's was only one of many empty seats in Sikowitz' class the next day. The few students who'd turned up found it difficult to concentrate; Robbie, in particular, had his PearPad tucked in his lap, and was furtively refreshing the news page every few minutes while Sikowitz' back was turned.

"Okay, focus, people!" The acting teacher clapped his hands. "We're here to learn, after all, not to space out."

"Says the man who gets high off coconut milk," snapped Jade. Beck tried unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle.

Sikowitz glowered at the pair. "Just for that – Drive-by Acting Exercise! Miss West! Mr. Oliver! Front and center!"

The two exes reluctantly climbed onto the little stage.

"Let's see…hmm…Beck! _You_ are a deranged cotton-candy vendor with a penchant for-"

There was an ear-splitting roar high above their heads. The window rattled in its frame. Students clapped their hands to their ears; Cat cried out and curled into a ball as Robbie tried to comfort her.

Andre rose and looked out the window as the noise diminished. Three jets were streaking across the sky to the north.

"Where are they headed?" asked Sinjin.

"Probably to Beale Air Force Base," one of the students in the back of the room replied. "That's where my dad's stationed. They're moving a lot of military personnel out of LA, just in case of…"

"In case of what?"

"…Nothing. Forget about it."

Sikowitz seemed to be unable to look away from the jet trails in the sky. Finally Jade took him by the shoulder and shook him. "Hey! You were giving us our roles, remember?"

"What? Oh. Yes. I think – I think we can forget about the cotton candy vendor." He looked thoughtfully, almost tenderly, at his two favorite students. "You know what? Both of you are astronauts. You've just set foot on the moon, and for the first time in your lives, you're looking at the Earth, floating in space. Go!"

Stepping high, moving slowly to simulate the moon's low gravity, Beck drifted toward Jade. He pointed toward the dry erase board, inviting her to imagine that it was their distant home planet. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah. So lovely…and so quiet. You'd never believe there's six billion people on it."

"Not just people, though. Plants and animals, birds and fish – all of the land and water pulsing with life."

"See that?" She gestured. "Behind that swirling cloud? That's southern California. Our home. So amazingly tiny…so fragile…"

"It's all interconnected," Beck whispered. "All of life. Like dominoes. Push just a single one over, and one by one they all fall, until there's nothing left…just a pile of lifeless rubble…"

"But that could never happen – right? I mean, when you come down to it, the guys who have their finger on the button aren't lunatics. They're not going to let everything we've worked for as a species go up in flames. They'll step back from the brink."

"Will they? I think maybe you're underestimating humanity's capacity for self-destruction."

"Don't talk like that, damn it! You're scaring me!"

"Very good, children," said Sikowitz. "You can return to your seats now-"

Jade ignored him. "C'mon, Beck! How am I supposed to keep from freaking out without your telling me that it's all going to be okay?"

"But we don't know that it_ is_ going to be okay. What do you want me to do, lie to you?"

"Yes! Lie to me! Please!" She was practically sobbing. "I can't face it…it's all too much…"

So riveted was the class with this exchange that the sound of Helen Dubois knocking on the classroom door nearly made them jump.

"Forgive me for interrupting your class, Erwin." The principal cleared her throat. "Word has just reached my office that the mayor is closing all Los Angeles public schools until the present emergency is over. I think it would probably be wise if Hollywood Arts followed suit. You're all dismissed."

A confused murmur arose. "What about graduation?" Robbie asked. "Will it be cancelled?"

"Not cancelled, just…postponed."

She raised a hand to forestall the angry protests. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. But the fact is, your safety has to come first. And, if anything does happen – not that I'm saying it will, mind you – but if it does, your parents are going to want you at home with them."

"Don't be so sure about that," Jade murmured darkly.

"Your dad still AWOL?" Beck asked.

"Yeah. It's just me and Peter now." She smiled. "I bet he's jumping for joy right now, not having to go to school. Probably already on Level 17 of _Super Blood Death Mutants_."

"You know," he said softly, "you and your brother could always come and stay with us."

"What? No. It would be wrong for me to impose on your folks like that. And besides, Peter would freak out. You know how much trouble he has with unfamiliar surroundings."

"So, you two are just going to stay in that gigantic mansion, all alone? That's no good, Jade."

She shrugged. "Maybe not, but we've got no choice."

The students trickled out of the room, some whispering to one another in anxious tones, others deathly silent and pale. Cat was quietly crying into Robbie's shirt. Only Beck remained behind. As he watched his black-clad former girlfriend disappear into the hallway, he silently came to a decision.

/

The crush of people in the international terminal of Los Angeles International Airport was so great that Tori and Trina could barely breathe, let alone make their way to the wall of electronic screens listing arriving and departing flights. When they at last pushed to the front of the crowd, they were greeted by a bleak sight: column after column of nothing but the word "CANCELLED" in flashing white letters. With sinking heart, Tori scanned the list to see whether their flight was among the axed. It was.

Trina, never one to take disappointment lying down, stormed to the Canadian Airlines ticket counter. "What the heck do you people think you're trying to pull? Our dad paid top dollar for these tickets! You'd better get us on another flight, pronto."

The bags under the counter attendant's eyes suggested that she hadn't slept in days. Her voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry for your inconvenience, ma'am, but it simply can't be helped. The FAA has grounded all non-essential commercial air travel on the Pacific coast. We'll be happy to refund your money-"

"Money? I don't care about money! My sister and I are trying to get to our mother! Can't we, I don't know, charter a private plane or something?"

The woman groaned in frustration. "Look. You can try one of our competitor airlines if you like, but they'll all tell you the same thing. There's no getting out of Los Angeles by air. Not today."

"That is _not_ acceptable-"

Tori could see that the argument wasn't going to end anytime soon. Shaking her head at her stubborn sister, she wandered off to a row of cheap plastic chairs. A family of stranded travelers, suitcases at their feet, were huddled around a portable television. Tori stood on tiptoe to look over their shoulders.

"…details still sketchy, but it would appear that American and Russian ships have exchanged fire off Vladivostok. I repeat, there has been an exchange of fire. Premier Kirov has issued a communique to Washington demanding a full explanation and apology for the, quote, 'unprovoked act of aggression' by 0600 hours tomorrow. In response, the President has raised NORAD's alert status to DEFCON 2, and all leave permits for military personnel have been cancelled-"

Tori ran back to the counter and tugged at her sister's hand. "Trina, we need to go."

"Yeah, I know, but this jerkface-" she gestured at the scowling clerk- "-keeps giving me the runaround-"

"I don't mean Vancouver. I mean we need to _go._ Any way. Anywhere."

As the import of Tori's words sunk in, Trina's eyes slowly widened. "…But…we've got practically no supplies, and I don't even have a full tank of gas! How far can we hope to get?"

"I don't know, but the farther away from Los Angeles, the better."

Trina studied her sister's expression. The two of them might fight and squabble more often than not, but they also shared a sibling bond that allowed them to sense one another's feelings on a level deeper than conscious thought; and right now Trina could tell that there was no doubt in Tori's mind, no inner conflict. She was absolutely convinced that their lives depended on leaving the city without even a moment's delay. And Trina didn't dare question her judgment.

"All right, then. Let's move."

Fifteen minutes later, Trina's battered Camaro was part of a bumper-to-bumper stream of cars, trucks, and motorcycles on the smoggy highway leading out of the city, into the scorching, barren California desert.

/

As Jade had expected, the only sound in the house when she arrived was the incessant bleep-bloop of her brother's favorite video game. She found him in the living room, where he was busily blowing out zombies' guts with a hand-held controller.

"Hiya, Petey." She ruffled his hair affectionately as she opened the curtains. "How's about we let in a little light? It's no good for your eyes, sitting in the dark like this."

He didn't even look up, but took careful aim at a particularly malevolent walking corpse and fired, hitting it square in the chest.

"Peter? Did you hear me?"

As the zombie fell, he plugged it in both its kneecaps.

"Peter. Will you talk to me, please?"

"Don't want to talk," he finally replied, in the flat, emotionless voice that had always unnerved her slightly. "Busy."

She sighed. It had never been easy communicating with her autistic younger brother. Once he became fixated on an activity, he would willfully shut out every other stimulus; at his worst, he would react with rage to any attempt to draw him out of his shell. But right now she had no choice.

"Listen, Peter. You know about the bad stuff going on, right?"

"Yeah. They cancelled school," he replied bluntly, eyes still on the screen.

"Okay, then. I want you to remember something." She spoke slowly, stressing each word to make sure it registered. "If you hear sirens, or if there's an emergency alert on TV, I want you to go down into the basement, and _stay there_. Understand? Even if I'm not there."

"I'm almost at Level 19," Peter said, apropos of nothing. "I have 250,300 points."

"That's good, and I'm proud of you, but you need to pay attention to what I'm saying. I'm going to put some canned food down there, and water, and batteries and things. Enough for us to live on for a few weeks – not that I'm expecting we'll need to."

"Whatever."

"Damn it, Peter, this is important!" She yanked the controller from his hands. Immediately he began to scream in frustration and kicked out at her. "My game! You're ruining my game!"

"Listen to me!" Jade grabbed ahold of his wrists and held them tightly. "Whether I'm here or not, if there's danger, you need to go down there, and you need to stay there. There may be-" she shuddered- "there may be dust in the air that…that makes you sick when you breathe it. It won't be safe for you to come up at first. Okay? Whatever happens, however bored or frustrated you get, you _have to stay put_."

His tantrum had quieted down by now, but he was still peeved. "I don't want to. I don't like the basement. It's smelly and damp."

"Yeah, I'm not crazy about it either. But sometimes life means doing things we don't like. It can't all be fun and games and _Super Blood Death Mutants_, y'know?"

He gave one last defiant grunt. "It's not fair."

"No," she whispered. "It isn't."

The moment she returned the controller, Peter was back in the world of his game. He fired away gleefully while Jade hauled boxes of canned food down the rickety basement stairs.

Just as she was coming up from her fourth delivery, her arms aching, a horn honked outside.

A very distinctive, very familiar horn.

_No way._

She pushed aside the living room curtains and looked out, to see Beck Oliver's RV pulling up to the front gate.

He hadn't even had time to turn off the engine of his pickup before she was running up to him, crying, "Have you lost your _mind?_ What are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, since you and Peter aren't going to be budging any time soon, I figured I might as well come keep an eye on you."

"I-" She was momentarily speechless. "Look, I won't say I'm not grateful, but what about your parents?"

"They're already headed to Dad's summer house in the hills, with my sister. They should be able to manage just fine without me."

"Maybe, but still…"

"Jade, look. Whatever happens, I want to be by your side. But if you'd rather I go, then I'll go."

She thought a moment, then gently reached through the truck window and withdrew Beck's keys from the ignition.

He smiled, flooded with infinite relief, and reached out to hug her, but she jerked away. "Don't misunderstand me, Oliver. This doesn't mean we're back together or anything. I just…appreciate your company. That's all."

"Got it, got it. Oh, and since I'm now an official West houseguest…what's for dinner?"

His wink was met by a scowl that could peel paint off walls.


	3. Let It All Burn

**A/N: There are few things more frustrating than when the vivid scenario you have in your mind fails to translate effectively onto the printed page. Sigh. I'll probably keep going, though, if only because it would be a shame to leave my last **_**Victorious **_**story hanging.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

The rows of empty supermarket shelves stared at Andre like toothless mouths. The few cans of soup and sardines that he had managed to find rattled about forlornly in his cart.

To no one's surprise, the store owner had suddenly decided to raise prices by seventy-five percent across the board, and he was probably making a killing, if the hordes of shoppers that were currently swarming like locusts all around Andre were any indication. Then again, as Andre thought grimly, if the worst-case scenario came to pass, hundred-dollar bills would be about as valuable as toilet paper. All that mattered now was gathering the essentials for survival, and if that meant emptying out his wallet – or even his bank account – it was an acceptable loss.

He was about to join the snaking checkout line when an elderly woman cut him off rudely. He saw that her cart was stuffed to overflowing with bags of dog and cat food.

"Wow. You must really love your pets."

"I haven't _got _any pets," she snapped. "There just wasn't anything else edible."

He looked back over his shoulder. Apparently the woman wasn't alone in her desperation; the pet food aisle was just as thoroughly ransacked as all the others. In fact, the only part of the store that remained untouched was the perfume counter, where boxes of fifty-dollar scents were still stacked into neat pyramids – a potent symbol of the mass shift in priorities.

At the front of the line, a large, wild-eyed, unshaven man was lecturing the unhappy-looking young couple next to him.

"It's all just a hoax," he bellowed. "Just the government trying to scare us into being obedient little sheep. I mean, what is this 'launch on warning' crap they're talking about now? If they see a flock of geese or something on their radar, they're going to immediately interpret it as a missile attack and fire back? Please. That's the most ridiculous load of bull I've ever heard!"

Andre's PearPhone buzzed in his back pocket.

"Hello?"

"Andre? It's Mrs. Overton. I'm concerned about your grandmother."

He sucked in his breath and clenched the phone tightly. Emma Overton was a kindly neighbor who had long ago agreed to look in on Charlotte Harris every so often when Andre was out of the house.

"What's the matter? What's she done?"

"That's just it, you see – I don't have any idea what she's up to. All the lights are turned off, she's not picking up the phone, she won't answer the door when I knock, and everything's bolted up, so I can't get in even with the duplicate key you left me. Do you want me to call the police?"

He bit his lip anxiously. "Um – no, we don't need to go that far yet. I'll come home as soon as I can and make sure she's all right. Thanks for the heads up."

The moment he hung up, he scanned the store from end to end. Not a single checkout counter had fewer than twenty people queued up. There was simply no way he could purchase the food and make it home in less than an hour and a half.

With a heavy sigh, he tapped the brusque woman in front of him on the shoulder. "Do you want some stuff that's a little more nutritious than Kibbles n' Bits?"

/

"Cat? Cat!"

Robbie had always hated the Hollywood Arts furnace room. The sweltering heat, the labyrinthine twists and turns, the dark corners in which who-knows-what might be lurking – it was all profoundly unpleasant. But then, it was his own fault he was down here. If he hadn't let Cat slip loose from his grasp and run off in panic into the bowels of the school, he and she would be safe at home by now – his or hers, it really didn't matter at this point – and holding one another close.

Steam hissed above him as he stumbled and bumped his way about. "Cat? It's okay, sweetheart. Nothing's going to hurt you. You can come out now…"

He could just make out, coming from around the next turn, tiny, muffled sobs.

She was rocking back and forth, pressing Mr. Longneck to her chest. "I'm under my bed…I'm under my bed…"

"Oh, kitty cat…" He sighed._ I should have known this would happen. She's never been good at handling the unexpected. _ "You shouldn't run away like that, you know? It scares the heck out of me."

"I'm sorry," she blubbered. "It's just…I don't want the world to end, Robbie. I _like_ the world. It's got cotton candy, and rainbows, and floppy-eared bunnies and red velvet cupcakes…and music. What if there's no more music, Robbie? What if everything goes away, and there's just…silence?"

"I don't think that's going to happen, sweetheart. No matter how bleak things look, people aren't just going to let all the things that give them joy vanish into thin air."

She looked up. "Do you really believe that?"

_No, I don't._ "Yes. Yes, of course I do."

The little redhead seemed to regain some of her confidence. She smiled weakly. "Hey, Robbie?"

"What, baby?"

"Let's not go home just yet. Let's…let's have some fun. Do something completely wild and crazy. That way, if something terrible _does_ happen, we can at least have the memories to hold on to."

He forced himself to return her smile. "Sure. Sounds great. What about the amusement park, down by the marina? I know how much you love the merry-go-round!"

"Yay!" She clapped excitedly. "I call the white pony with the long flowing mane!"

"It's all yours, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead. "All yours."

/

Andre shimmied up the gnarled oak tree that overlooked his grandmother's second story window. She might have shut up tight every other entrance to the house, but she always, without fail, left this window open, in case she had to suddenly flee from the hallucinatory phantoms that forever haunted her. Once he was level with the window, he carefully eased himself out of the branches and into her bedroom.

She lay on the bed, perfectly still. For a moment he thought she was simply sleeping. But then his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he could make out her arm, hanging limply over the side of the bed; the revolver that had fallen from her fingers onto the rug, one of its six chambers empty; and the pool of red on the pillow beside her left temple.

"Oh, no, no, no…" He fell to his knees in shock.

A note was pinned to the breast pocket of her blouse. He pulled it free and stared through tear-stung eyes at the neat lines of cursive.

_Andre: I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I don't see what other choice I have. I went through this before, growing up – all the drills, "duck and cover" and "get under your desks if the siren sounds". I'm too old and sick to deal with it again. And besides, if the bombs do fall you'll have enough on your plate just trying to keep yourself alive; no sense in making you worry about me too. I love you. Forgive me._

He drew a quilt over her lifeless form and slowly rose. He knew that he should call the police and have the body taken away, but he suddenly found himself without the willpower even to pick up the phone; it felt as though his limbs were made of lead.

_Let the bombs fall,_ he thought. _Let it all burn. I don't care anymore._


End file.
